


under the wide western skies

by badtemperedchocolate



Category: Bon Appétit Test Kitchen (Web Series)
Genre: Current Events, F/M, I never claimed, I wasn't trash, Quarantine, wyoming - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-22
Updated: 2020-04-22
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:55:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23791153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/badtemperedchocolate/pseuds/badtemperedchocolate
Summary: Two chefs, a quarantine, and a little cabin in Wyoming.
Relationships: Brad Leone & Claire Saffitz, Brad Leone/Claire Saffitz
Comments: 22
Kudos: 168





	under the wide western skies

**Author's Note:**

> General spoilers for the current state of things. You know.
> 
> As if it needs to be said: this is totally, completely fictional. Just escapism. 100% fake. So let’s keep it here in this corner where it’s not going to bother anyone, k?
> 
> As always, many thanks to 40millionyears and professortennant for offering help, encouragement, friendship, and listening to my endless complaining.

When everything goes to hell, Claire’s in Denver.

She manages to finish up a last few meetings before the news really hits critical, the walls start to close in, and then she faces the daunting task of dragging herself all the way back to Manhattan a week earlier than planned.

Manhattan, which is so densely populated that it’s probably the absolute worst place she could possibly be. The thought is not a comforting one.

She should start the process of re-booking her flight.

Instead, she calls Brad, because she doesn’t know who else will let her whine to her heart’s content (it’s fine. whining is just part of her process.). Brad’s been on vacation for a week and a half in Wyoming; apart from some texts, he’s been relatively offline, and she hasn’t talked to him in a few days now.

He picks up immediately, because he always answers the phone, because he’s _Brad_. “ _How’s it goin’, Claire?”_

“About as good as it is for anyone,” she sighs. “How about you? Are you back yet?”

“ _Nah, I decided I’m stayin’ put. No reason I gotta go back, my rental guy said the place is available basically as long as I want it. So me and my germs are gonna stay right where we are.”_

“That sounds great.”

“ _You’ve been in Colorado, right? When are you back to the city?”_

“As soon as I can get there. I was supposed to be here another week, but everything’s cancelled and shutting down, so I’m going to just go back.” Claire groans. “God, it’s going to be a nightmare.”

“ _You know, if –”_ Brad stops for a moment, and seems to hesitate before starting again. “ _If you wanted to, you could come stay up here instead_.”

“Up here – you mean, in Wyoming? With you?” Her voice sounds more accusatory than she wants it to.

“ _If you want. I mean, it’s not crowded like New York,”_ he hurries to explain, “ _so you won’t have to worry about gettin’ boxed in or anything, and I dunno, you get sick so easy, it’s just so much easier to stay away from folks out here. And there’s plenty of space. Even got a whole extra bedroom.”_

It shouldn’t sound tempting. The thought of just moving into a little remote cabin with Brad, no one but them, with no actual end date –

“Okay.”

“ _Yeah?”_

“Yeah.” He has a good point. She _does_ get sick easily. And this is what friends do, right? Friends help each other out. There’s nothing weird about it. “Thank you. I – I don’t even know how to thank you.”

“ _Gonna be great, Claire. Just let me know what your travel plans are, ‘kay? Cabin’s outside Casper. I can pick you up wherever.”_

“Right. Yeah.” Okay. She just has to get to Wyoming. She can do this. “I can do that.”

“ _We’re gonna be fine, Claire. Everything’s gonna be fine.”_

She hangs up the phone less stressed, but more bewildered, than she was before she called him.

* * *

Three hours later, he texts her. _getting groceries. chickpeas y/n_

* * *

Two days later, Claire walks out of the tiny gate at Cheyenne regional airport, past the miniscule security area, and finds Brad standing in the middle of baggage, hands in his pockets.

And of course she can tell the minute he sees her; his eyes light up, and he grins, wide and open. “Heya, Claire! How was your flight?”

“Fine.” She shifts her bag a little higher on her shoulder. “Not crowded.”

“Yeah, I bet.” He looks her over. “You got more luggage?”

She nods. “My suitcase. It should be on the way.”

As if on cue, the conveyor belt beeps, and she sees a few scattered bits of luggage start to appear. Claire officially loves small airports.

She sees hers come through, and brightens. “There, that’s mine.”

Instead of waiting for her, though, Brad leans forward to grab it. She tries to protest, but he waves a hand. “Hey, c’mon, let me,” he insists, lifting the suitcase off the conveyor easily. “You’re the talent.” Claire wrinkles her nose, but he just grins at her. “All right. You got everything? Car’s out in the parking lot.”

It’s sunny but chilly, and she wraps her coat tighter around herself as they walk out of the terminal into the afternoon sunlight. “Where’s the parking lot?”

“Oh, just over there. This airport fuckin’ rocks,” he tells her seriously, rolling her suitcase along behind them. “Free parking! Who the hell just lets you park for free? I’ll take this over Newark any fuckin’ day.”

He hefts her heavy suitcase into the trunk of the rented SUV like it weighs nothing, and once she’s in the passenger seat, he clicks on his seat belt and eases the car out of the parking space.

“Got a pretty good setup out there,” he explains, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “Cabin’s out of the way, but couple miles down the road is a nice big ranch. I went and talked to the rancher about ordering stuff, and he’s cool for us to come pick up milk and butter and eggs once a week. And there’s a big general store in town, so we can pick up whatever. I stocked up on everything I could think of.”

“Sounds good,” Claire offers. Brad wouldn’t be _Brad_ if he hadn’t already figured out a dozen things and made multiple new friends in the process. She trusts him.

And she doesn’t want to be rude, but it’s been such a long day already, and her eyes are getting heavy.

“Hey, you dozin’ off on me?”

“Sorry.” She covers up a yawn. “It’s been a long day.”

“Ah, that’s okay. Snooze if you want to. We got another two hours.”

She turns on the radio, turning the dial until she finds a classic rock station, and as Brad drives them, she drifts into a contented half-sleep.

* * *

By the time he turns onto the final gravel road and Claire sees a rooftop and chimney tucked back in a copse of trees, the sun is starting to set.

“Here we are!” he announces cheerfully, pulling off the road next to the cabin. “Home sweet home.”

As he grabs her suitcase and she follows him inside, Claire’s pleasantly surprised to find out that ‘rustic’ doesn’t really apply. The cabin is small, but the interior is open, and a cursory look shows her that the kitchen isn’t bad: nice appliances, a spacious fridge and freezer, and a beautiful cast-iron skillet is sitting beside the stovetop. It’s not a professional kitchen, but there’s counterspace and a decent-sized island to work with.

There’s a small dining table with four chairs across from it, the surface almost entirely covered with what looks like half a dozen fermenting projects in mismatched containers, and the sitting area features a big, comfy-looking sectional couch and armchair, along with a flatscreen TV hooked up on the wall.

“Wow, Brad. I thought you were roughing it out here.”

“Yeah, yeah. Gettin’ soft,” he grins at her. “Too fancy for ya?”

“Not at all. It’s perfect.”

The cabin is tidy, cozy, comfortable, and boasts high-speed internet, a washer and dryer stacked in a tiny closet next to the kitchen, and a massive hot water heater, which makes her breathe a sigh of relief. There’s even a hot tub on the back deck, and Claire suddenly wishes she’d tossed a bathing suit in her suitcase.

“I’m parked in the bedroom over there,” Brad explains, “and the other one’s made up for ya. Hope it’s okay. They’re basically the same.”

She opens the door to find the room clean and bright, featuring rich wood, an old-fashioned brass bedframe, and a pretty maple dresser topped with an oval mirror. There are green-and-blue striped curtains on the windows, and delicate framed landscapes on the wall. The bed is neatly made with a soft blue comforter, there are clean towels folded up at the foot, and there’s even a sweatshirt folded beside it.

She holds it up, turning it over curiously. “Brad? What’s this?”

He leans into the doorway. “Oh, well, y’know, it gets kinda cold up here, and I wasn’t sure you’d have enough warm stuff, so I found that at the general store. Hope it’s okay.”

It’s deep purple, with _Casper, WY_ emblazoned on it in bold white text, and the inside is soft and fleecy. And sure enough, it’s exactly the right size. Because of _course_ Brad’s going to get her the right size sweatshirt when he’s worried she’s going to be chilly.

“I love it.” She holds it up to her chest. “ _Thank_ you, Brad.”

After taking the next few minutes to unpack and get settled in her room, Claire pokes her head into the bathroom – it’s not huge, but the shower is nice and Brad has very obviously shoved his soap and mouthwash to one side of the sink, leaving the other one free – and ducks back out to continue her mini-tour of what’s now apparently her home for the foreseeable future. Brad, ever observant, jumps at the chance to show her the kitchen.

“Nice thing is, we’re out here in the middle of the country, so we got plenty of food all around.” He opens the cupboards, showing her what he found. “AP flour, whole wheat flour, I even found some rye flour and semolina. And if you think of something else I forgot, there are farms and ranches nearby, or I bet we could order whatever, so just let me know.”

“This is amazing, Brad.” She lets out a breath, looking over the sacks of grain and canned goods. Maybe a few specialty things she wants to look for, but overall it’s well-stocked, and she can already think of a dozen recipes that’ll be just perfect. “It’s perfect. _Thank_ you.”

He shrugs, but she can see how pleased he is. “Well, y’know. Wanted you to have whatcha need.”

It’s just so _Brad_ that she can’t stop herself. She leans over his back and wraps her arms around his shoulders in a hug, because even crouched down, he’s almost as tall as she is. “You really did think of everything.”

He freezes for just a moment, tense under her touch, but before she can panic that she’s overstepped, he relaxes. “ _Well_.” He pats her hands gently. “I tried. Whatever the talent wants, y’know?”

* * *

Over a hastily-thrown-together dinner of Molly’s mac and cheese recipe, Brad sets down his fork and takes a deep breath. “Okay. Claire. Something I have to admit to ya.”

She freezes. Oh no. “What is it?”

“Don’t freak out – ”

“Brad –”

“- but I have to admit that we don’t have a dishwasher.”

She stares at him for along moment, and finally sighs, dropping her head in her hands. “ _Why_ do I listen to you?”

“Aw, c’mon, Claire! That was funny! I had you goin’ for a second!”

She shakes her head, picking up her fork again. “Just for that, I’m not helping with dishes.”

* * *

She had good intentions of spending an hour responding to emails that night, but by the time they finish clearing the kitchen and get everything put away, Claire can’t stop yawning, and Brad just laughs. “Jeez, Claire. Go to bed before you drop.”

The bed is comfortable, and mattress soft, and she falls asleep looking out the window at a night sky full of stars.

* * *

She wakes up confused for a long moment before realizing what’s wrong: no alarm. Her alarm hasn’t gone off yet.

It’s quiet.

Claire sighs, scrubbing a hand over her face. The windows in this room face east, the sunrise is pouring in, and oh _hello_ it’s earlier than she wants to be awake.

But the sun’s in her eyes, she’s feeling awake enough, and she can hear the sounds of Brad humming to himself and puttering around in the kitchen. And _oh_ there’s the smell of coffee.

Okay. She can get up now.

Claire pushes back her covers, shivers at the chilly morning air, and wraps the spare blanket around her shoulders before shuffling out of her room.

Sure enough, Brad’s standing in the middle of the kitchen, fully-dressed and wide awake, and there’s coffee brewing and he’s got a pan out on the stove and she can see eggs.

“Morning,” she murmurs. He looks up, and his whole face lights up.

“Hey, Claire! Morning. A little early for you, ain’t it?”

She grumbles, settling on the couch, pulling her knees up to her chest. “Too early. There better be coffee.”

“Oh, don’t you worry. Give me a minute and I’ll have you all caffeine’d up, Claire.” He putters around, grabbing a mug, digging through the pantry. “You ever had a café ooh-la-la?”

“A what?”

“I’ll take that as a no. Well, get ready. This is a Brad Leone _special_ , Claire.”

When he hands over the mug, complete with a sprinkle of brown sugar, Claire groans appreciatively. “Oh, _Brad_. It smells amazing.”

“Yeah?”

“Mmmm.” She breathes in the steam one more time before taking a cautious sip and humming in delight. “I take back everything bad I’ve ever said about you. You’re the _best_.”

“Damn straight.” He looks utterly pleased with himself. “Stick with me, you got coffee for _days._ ”

Claire curls up contentedly on the couch, blanket around her shoulders, and watches Brad mix up fluffy, light French omelettes with plenty of fresh herbs and spices.

 _I could get used to this_.

* * *

The sun is clear and bright, despite the chill of the early spring air, and even though she really should catch up on the news and attack the emails that have almost certainly been stacking up all morning, Claire lets Brad convince her to go out for a hike.

“There’s this awesome spot just up the ridge,” he explains as they trek over the grass and rocks, “this huge boulder, and when you climb up on it, you can see the whole valley, just everything for miles. Great view.”

Sure enough, they follow the rocky little trail, and Brad gives her a hand as she carefully picks her way up atop a large weathered old stone. She takes in a long breath. “Oh, _wow_.”

The valley below is vast, pale green and grey, and far in the distance, she can see a herd of horses grazing in a field. Above them, the sky is soft blue, and she can see birds circling above. The wind whips her hair, stinging her cheeks, but she can’t bring herself to mind.

Brad hoists himself up and scoots to sit next to her. “Pretty great, huh?”

“It’s wonderful.” She tugs her knees in close, tucking her hands between them to stay warm. “It’s definitely not Manhattan.”

“Sure isn’t.” He points off to the left. “See those fences? That’s the ranch. They’re our closest neighbors, I think.”

“The one who’s got dairy for us?”

“Yeah. He also mentioned his wife makes sourdough all the time,” Brad tells her, “so next time we pick up from them, he said they’ll give us some starter, too.”

“Why do I get the feeling that you and this rancher have already become best friends?”

He shoots her a grin. “You makin’ fun of me?”

She shrugs. “You’re very friendly.”

“Hey, Dave’s nice! He’s a great guy. And Helen – his wife – said she loves your videos. Promised she’d save good eggs for us.”

“Uh-huh.” Claire smothers a knowing grin. Some things just don’t change.

“Gonna be good, Claire.” He nods slowly. “I know it ain’t ideal. But we’re gonna be fine.”

“Yeah.” She looks out over the scene in front of them. “Yeah, we’re pretty lucky, aren’t we?”

They’re safe, they’ve got food, their jobs are secure. And they’re together. She can’t even bring herself to look for a reason to complain right now.

He nods slowly. “We sure are.”

* * *

As they walk back to the cabin, Brad does some thinking.

He knows Claire. Really _knows_ her. She overthinks things, she considers options, and she likes having time and space to herself.

Since they’re going to be roommates for the immediate future, he knows, he’s going to have to give her space. Claire doesn’t like being crowded in the kitchen, and as much as he’s a people person, he knows she’s not. She needs room to unwind.

Back inside, Claire pulls off her coat, shuddering. “It’s _cold_ out there.”

She’s got her coat, but she doesn’t have gloves, Brad realizes. Damn. Should have thought of that. He’ll make sure to look for some next time he’s at the general store. Or maybe he can ask Dave and Helen? They might have an extra pair they could loan out. He’ll do that.

Claire goes off to her bedroom and pulls out her laptop. Brad’s got his own computer open at the dining table, in the tiny amount of space between his latest mustard and an attempt at ginger beer that he’s not feeling very optimistic about.

“Hey, Brad?” she yells.

“Yeah?”

“You get the email from Duckor?”

He scrolls, and oh, there it is. “Oh, yeah. Kitchen’s closed, but he wants to talk home vids. Not a bad idea.”

* * *

Claire knows it’s unreasonable to think she’s going to hide the fact that she is, strictly speaking, living with Brad Leone.

That said, she’s not announcing it from the rooftops.

Despite being enough of a public figure that she has been recognized in coffee shops and subway stations and one very awkward time in the waiting room of her dentist’s office, Claire likes her privacy.

She’s peripherally aware of the chatter about her and Brad – she once overheard Adam using the words _their chemistry is electric_ , and she immediately hated it – and the thought that anyone is looking over her shoulder, counting the seconds until she succumbs to his charms or something stupid like that, is maddening.

So she does what seems best: she avoids the issue until she has to deal with it.

Just writes back to Duckor, writes to Dan, tells them she doesn’t think Gourmet Makes is a possibility outside the kitchen, but she can definitely find other things to do.

* * *

Claire leans back against the head of her bed, balancing her laptop on her legs as she talks to Dan. BA’s idea is a good one – at-home AV kits, so everyone can stay connected and keep producing content. It’ll keep them busy, it’ll connect them with their fans, and it’ll force them to actually be home cooks, rather than chefs in a kitchen with thirty ovens, a dish pit, and two dehydrators.

(The test kitchen really does spoil them.)

Of course, that means when Dan casually asks where she is, she has to tell the truth.

“Wyoming.”

He looks surprised. “Wyoming? Like Brad?”

That’s when she realizes: there’s literally no way to hide it. And _trying_ to hide it would look even worse.

She’s actually going to have to come out and say it.

“ _With_ Brad, actually.” Dan’s eyebrows go up, and she grits her teeth and continues as placidly as she can. “He had decided to stay, and he asked if I wanted to come up here instead of going back to New York.”

“Ah, okay.”

* * *

The rest of the call is pretty normal. But four minutes after it ends, Claire’s phone buzzes with a text from Molly.

_are you SERIOUSLY playing house with Brad???_

That didn’t take long.

But she made this decision, so she’s going to deal with it. Like an adult.

_I didn’t want to go back to NY, and I was only a few hours away from him. Aren’t you staying in Cali?_

_yeah, got the hubz and the dogs here anyway_

Okay. So maybe it’s going to be fine.

But then Molly texts her again. _how’s the love nest?_

Claire glares at her phone for a long moment before finally sending an appropriate response in which only one of the words is a swear word.

* * *

He knows Claire’s not a morning person, and he figures she’ll want to sleep in, so the next morning, Brad goes out for a walk before breakfast. The cold air is bracing, and even with the clouds, the sky is glorious out here in the morning. There are a handful of trails around the cabin, and he wanders contentedly, enjoying the fresh, crisp air in his lungs. He can see deer way off in the trees past the gravel road, and there’s a hawk up overhead.

New York’s great and all, but there’s really nothing in the world like fresh air and wide open spaces.

The stroll back to the cabin is a comfortable one, and he shoves his hands in his pockets, trying to decide what would be good for breakfast. Neither he nor Claire like a lot of sweet stuff early in the morning, but maybe he can try a more savory pancake? Something with a nuttier kind of flour, maybe buttermilk or sour cream to add some zing. And he’s got some nice blackberries in the fridge. Those would be good, nice and tart.

Okay. He’s got a plan.

He’s just shutting the front door behind him, intent starting coffee, when suddenly the bathroom door opens a few feet away, and Claire appears.

Wearing a towel. And nothing else.

“Oh!”

She freezes, tugging the towel tighter around herself. Brad swallows hard. “Sorry. Didn’t, uh. Didn’t realize –”

“It’s okay.”

She’s just so soft, her skin flushed from the hot water, her cheeks pink. Brad catches his breath, watching, transfixed, as water droplets stream down her throat, glittering over the notch on her collarbone.

(He wonders what she’d do if he followed that droplet with his tongue, scraped his teeth over her throat, dragged the scratch of his stubble over her fair skin.)

Claire stammers something and disappears into her bedroom, shutting the door behind her.

He grits his teeth, shaking his head as he heads for the kitchen. _Get your shit together, Leone_. She deserves better than that, and his fucking hormones just need to get a grip. He’s a grown-ass man and he can control himself.

He sighs and starts digging through the cupboard for the rye flour.

* * *

Brad had assumed that seeing wet, naked Claire wrapped up in a towel was going to be the thing that kills him today. It was inevitable. He’s not mad. He’s had a good run.

But as he’s lifting a perfect little rye flapjack onto a plate and spooning fresh blackberries over it, Claire appears in the kitchen with damp hair and flushed cheeks, wearing a soft sweater and those jeans he loves and _glasses_ , actual, honest-to-God glasses with huge frames that make her look unbearably adorable, and he realizes: oh.

So _this_ is what’s going to kill him.

* * *

The AV equipment arrives quickly, and with it is another package, something softer. Claire opens it and starts laughing. “Oh, of course –”

She pulls out two aprons: one of her soft crossbacks, and Brad’s grey fabric apron. It’s not the heavy-duty leather apron he loves, but this one’s less bulky.

“Hey, look at that.” Brad takes the grey one she tosses to him. “At least we can look like real chefs.”

Claire turns hers over. It’s not much, but even a tiny bit of normalcy is welcome right now. “I’m just glad they’re machine-washable.”

* * *

That afternoon, Brad gets a call from the ranch, so he and Claire hop into the car and drive down to pick up their eggs and dairy and starter.

The ranch house is lovely, a big old log building with a graceful sloped roof and deep green shutters around the window. Their order’s sitting on a blanket next to the front gate, and Claire sees a grey-haired couple sitting on the front porch in rocking chairs, chatting.

Brad hops out and waves to them. “Hey, Dave! Helen! This is Claire.”

Claire waves a little bashfully, but the couple looks delighted. “Hi!” the woman calls. “I’m such a big fan! Love your work. That monkey bread is my grandkids’ favorite.”

“Thanks! I’m glad.” Claire looks up at Brad, who just shrugs.

“Told ya she liked you.”

“There’s a little jar of starter down there,” Helen explains. “I tested it this morning, and it seemed fine, but let me know if it doesn’t work and I can get you some fresher.”

“Thank you! I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Claire helps Brad load the milk and butter and eggs into the trunk, but the crock of starter gets to ride up front in her lap.

Bread is important.

Brad tucks an envelope in the mailbox and gives the couple a thumbs-up. “Don’t worry, we’re payin’ ya free and clear!”

Dave nods. “You folks take care! Call if you need something.”

* * *

As much as she knew this was coming, Claire can’t help feeling a little on-edge when they film their first video together, in their shared kitchen, in their shared cabin.

Their respective laptops are set up, and they’re staring at their respective crews, all in one awkward zoom call, with the camera on the tripod facing them. Today’s an easy day. Basic ‘where are we right now,’ kitchen tour, coffee. Nothing overly involved. The next thing on the schedule is pantry pasta, which is also pretty easy. They’ll have to decide who’s doing what, though.

She thinks she can convince him to let her do chickpea pasta. And maybe he wants to take point on coffee?

Anyway. It’s fine. Everything’s going to be fine. She and Brad are professionals, and they are friends, and they are going to film videos like they normally do. And eventually they’re going to go back to New York, and everything will be just fine.

“ _You know_ ,” Kevin points out from his desk in Brooklyn, “ _you guys actually have an advantage. You can be each other’s camera crew.”_

Brad laughs at that. “Oh, you’d like that, huh, bud? Tryin’ to get me and Claire to do your job, Mister Camera Guy?”

Kevin just grins. “ _Next you’ll be trying to make me cook something.”_

Claire folds her arms. “Didn’t you steal, like, three boxes of Poptarts when I made my versions?”

Hunzi gapes. “ _Kevin, what the hell? I went looking for one later, and they were all gone.”_

“He’s a thief,” Brad sighs. “Thief, jerky tamperer. Nothing but trouble, Kev.”

“ _Hey. Hey.”_ Kevin points at the camera. “ _You’re all mean. Those Poptarts were free for the taking.”_

* * *

Eventually, Hunzi decides they should actually maybe film the content they’re supposed to be filming.

“ _Okay, tell us where you are and why, and just whatever background info you think it important,”_ he prompts, before giving Claire the go sign.

“Right. Okay. Brad and I are here in rural Wyoming,” she explains, hoping it comes across as casual as it doesn’t feel. “So, Brad was already here, and I was in Denver. We both decided it was better to stay out here, where there aren’t as many people.”

“Yep.” Brad adds a thumbs up. “Less people, easier to stay isolated. Just us and the deer. And the birds. And I saw some elk before you got here, Claire. Pretty awesome.”

“Ooh.” Actually, that does sound cool. “Well, anyway. That’s where we are.”

* * *

Brad’s game to do coffee, so Claire perches on a stool across the counter and watches him make the exact same coffee he made the first morning she woke up here. Café ooh-la-la, he called it. She has no idea where the name came from, but it’s charming.

Watching Dan try to coach Brad into some kind of organized filming process is wonderful. Dan is not used to Brad. Brad is…unique.

She smothers her laughter as Brad gesticulates and waves and finally actually just makes coffee and steams milk and puts everything together. He sprinkles the brown sugar atop the pillowy foam with satisfaction. “Good angle, huh? I’m a good camera guy.”

“ _Landscape,”_ Dan yells through the screen.

“Oh!” Brad turns his camera, and Claire can barely hold back audible giggles. Brad shoots her a dirty look, but keeps going. “Look at that! That’s the stuff. That’s like a dessert. You can’t have this for breakfast! That’s like eatin’ candy for breakfast. Look at this. This is – this is dessert. A _delicacy._ I like this.”

“ _Take your first sip there,”_ Dan tells him. Brad’s about to, but he pauses, looking back at the screen.

“Yeah, look at these guys, huh? Working hard, or what?”

“ _We’re watching you work hard_ ,” Dan informs him.

Brad pauses, cup halfway to his mouth. “I did a good job, too.”

Claire can’t stop herself from laughing, and he sighs. “Okay, Claire, c’mon. A guy’s tryin’ to _work_ here. Very serious and professional.”

“Uh-huh.”

He sighs heavily. “Fine, Claire, just come over and have some.”

Never one to turn down coffee, Claire rolls herself off the couch and comes to join Brad in the kitchen, waving briefly to the computer. “Hey, guys.”

“ _Hi Claire.”_ Jon grins at her. “ _We miss you.”_

“I miss you guys too.” Brad hands her the coffee cup, and she takes a long sip. “Oh my God, Brad, if you make this every day I wouldn’t be unhappy.”

“C’mon, Claire, it’s a cup of sugar.”

“ _And_ coffee,” she corrects him, taking another sip. “It’s awesome. Everyone out there, you should make this.”

* * *

When Claire pulls her loaf of sourdough bread out of the oven that evening, she can’t help but smile. It’s _perfect_.

A well-baked loaf of bread makes everything better. And the butter they got from Helen and Dave is delicious and creamy and she’s tempted to just eat the entire loaf herself.

“ _Ooh_ , Claire.” Brad pokes his head into the kitchen. “That looks _awesome_. Smells great.”

“Yeah, I think we’re in business.” She sets it out carefully and puts the Dutch oven on the back of the stove to cool. “How’s the grill?”

“Charcoal’s just about ready, I came in to get the chicken.”

He takes the platter of carefully marinated chicken out to the grill, and Claire chops up vegetables for roasting.

If nothing else, two chefs stuck together are never going to worry about eating badly.

* * *

The next morning, Brad makes coffee, grabs a slice of bread and butter, and settles at the dining room table to check his email.

“Brad!”

Claire whispers it loudly from the door to her room, and Brad looks up from his computer, startled. Why the hell is she whispering? “Huh?”

“C’mere!”

Her eyes are sparkling as she waves him over, so he sets down his coffee and follows her into her bedroom. She grabs his hand, pulling him around the bed, over to the window, and tugs until he crouches down beside her.

“ _Look,”_ she whispers.

Sure enough, there’s a mama deer and a tiny, spindly-legged fawn outside her window, not ten feet away, grazing placidly on the grass.

“That’s a young one,” Brad whispers back to her. “It’s early spring. Look at the spots on it.”

She carefully grabs her phone off the nighttable, and Brad stifles a laugh. Claire’s been on Instagram a lot more the past few days. The world’s gonna have to know she had visitors this morning.

The deer wander back off into the woods, and he straightens up, grimacing as his knees protest. “Pretty cool, huh?”

“They were so close,” she murmurs, her eyes bright. “I haven’t seen deer up close like that in forever.”

She pauses to tap at her phone, and Brad suddenly realizes, belatedly, that he’s standing a little too close to her, in her bedroom, and she smells good, and her hair is still soft and tousled, and he really can’t be thinking things like this when he’s determined to give her the space she deserves.

And then he catches a glimpse of something lacy, and he’s not _trying_ to look, he’s not, but apparently Claire’s been hand-washing her underwear and using the little hanging bar in the closet to let it dry, because there’s a line of pink and blue and yellow and there’s lace and polka dots and –

\- and okay, yeah, he should get out of her bedroom now.

“Coffee’s ready,” he tells her as he walks out, hoping his ears don’t look as red as they feel.

He goes straight to the kitchen and tells himself to stop thinking about the delicate, lacy little things she’s apparently wearing under her clothes.

* * *

After a nice long morning hike, Brad gets back to the cabin to find Claire curled up on the couch wearing the sweatshirt he got her, frowning at her laptop.

“Whatcha working on?”

“Hmm?” She looks up, startled. “Oh, hey. Just book edits.”

“Sounds fun.” She lets out a short laugh, and Brad shrugs. “Hey, I’m gonna put lunch together. You hungry?”

She immediately brightens at the word _lunch_. “That would be great.”

“Any requests?” He spreads his arms. “Chef’s takin’ orders, here.”

“Nah. Surprise me.”

“You got it, lady.”

* * *

Claire goes back to her work after a lunch of fresh salad and roast tomato flatbreads – she wants to get this round of edits done today, so she can focus on filming tomorrow – and soon enough, she’s absorbed in formatting and whether or not she should axe every adverb she’s ever written. (She goes back and forth on this every few days.)

A cracking sound from outside drags her out of her concentration, and she looks up, dazed, to see Brad out back, near the grill, chopping firewood.

Oh.

_Oh._

He pauses to tug off his sweatshirt; his t-shirt rides up, flashing a glimpse of his tan skin before he tugs it back down. He sets up another log and gets back to work, and now she can see the flex of his brawny shoulders, his biceps, his whole body moving with total ease.

She should look away. She should stop staring at him.

(It’s not like she hasn’t looked at those arms and wondered…other things.)

He keeps chopping wood, oblivious to her watching, and it’s a long time before she can really get back to her work.

* * *

Claire has finally regained her composure, and she’s finishing a last few things, when the back door swings open and a gust of cold air rushes in as Brad brings in an armful of logs. “Hey, is that mat still down by the fireplace? Thought we might wanna make a fire later. Nights are still pretty cold.”

She unfolds herself from the couch and straightens the mat, and then she grabs the broom to clean up as Brad stacks the wood carefully before the fireplace. And she absolutely, positively does not notice the flex of his arms. Or the way his pants stretch over his backside as he crouches down.

* * *

By the time Claire looks up from her screen and decides it’s time to start on dinner, the wind has gotten louder outside, whistling around the eaves. But the cabin is snug and cozy, and as she rolls up her sleeves and starts slicing peppers, the rain falling on the roof is soft and almost kind of soothing.

Brad’s poking at some of the projects he’s got on the dining table, and she watches in amusement as he sniffs something and makes a face. “What’s that?”

“ _Wellllll,_ ” he sighs, covering it back up. “Mustard. Maybe. If it works out right. I had to sub a whole bunch of things, and I might’ve fucked it up. We’ll see.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“Aww, thanks. Ya hear that, Mr. Mustard?” Brad pokes the jar. “Claire believes in you. Gotta shape up, bud. Do it for Claire.”

She wrinkles her nose in exasperated amusement, and after a moment, she goes back to cooking.

* * *

They’re cleaning up dinner dishes when there’s a bright flash, a loud crack, and the lights go out.

Claire lets out a little yelp, and a few seconds later, the soft glow of her phone screen casts a faint bluish glow over their faces.

“You okay?” Brad asks, more out of reflex than anything else. Claire nods. “I know there’s matches in the cupboard.”

Brad calls the cabin’s owner and leaves a voicemail, but at this point, he knows it’s gonna be a waiting game. He ducks his head outside. _Oof_. It’s cold, the rain’s coming down in sheets, and the wind’s really picked up. Gotta be getting down into the 40’s, and storms are a much bigger deal out here without a million buildings to block it all.

Shutting the door firmly, Brad sighs, looking back to where Claire’s standing, lit candle in one hand. “It ain’t good. No way he’s gonna get out here at night, in this weather.”

“Do you think it might come back on by itself?” she asks hopefully. “After the storm, maybe?”

Brad shrugs. “Could be. But I left a message. If it ain’t back on when the rain stops, I’ll call again.”

She shrugs, apparently satisfied. “Well, I guess it could be worse.”

“ _Could be worse?_ ” He gapes in mock-surprise. “Claire Saffitz, is that – _optimism?_ From you?”

She glares at him, but it’s more adorable than anything. “Shut up.”

“Hey, don’t yell at me because you’re suddenly a Disney princess.”

Brad gets a fire going in the fireplace as Claire collects all the candles she can find, crowding them onto the coffee table. Between the decorative candles from the bathroom, the emergency tapers from the linen closet, and one inexplicable candle decorated with sheep that was just sitting on a shelf near the dining room table, they get the living room bathed in a soft, flickering golden glow.

The heat is still out, but with the fire, they’ll be fine for a good long while. Claire, who has managed to grab what seems like every blanket in the cabin, drops them onto the couch with a triumphant smile. “Well, we’re okay now.”

“Got one more secret weapon.” She frowns, confused, and he grins at her. “Booze, Claire. We got booze. And I got just the thing.”

They settle on the couch, Claire nestled in 80% of the blankets, and Brad pours them both a few fingers of bourbon. “Got this stuff the first night I was out here. Local stuff, they make it like twenty miles away.”

“Anything to stay warm, huh?” She grins at him over her glass.

“This is strictly for safety, Claire,” he informs her archly. “You’re welcome.”

* * *

Drinking with Claire is an _experience_.

It’s nothing crazy; neither of them is really drunk, and it’s not like he hasn’t seen her much further gone than she is tonight.

But there’s something about – about _this_. Between the coziness of the fire and the warm golden glow of the candles that sends light flickering over her face, there’s some kind of magic in the air, like there’s a spell around the two of them in this little nest. And everything else, the storm, the cold, the whole fucking mess the world’s in, is back outside the edges, and somehow they’re cheating by living in their little world here where no one else can find them.

The bourbon’s good. It goes down nice and smooth, warming him from the inside out. Claire sips at hers and hums in contentment, and he _doesn’t_ watch her tongue swipe over her lips. He doesn’t. That’s not something he’d do, no matter how soft and rosy her mouth looks. But he doesn’t notice that, either.

He decides his glass is the safest place to look.

Actually, in the firelight, the glass glitters, the liquid is rich gleaming amber. It really is pretty. And it’s not gonna be awkward if his glass realizes he’s been pining for it for so long now that –

 _Shut up, Brad_.

He knocks back the last of his drink and takes a breath. Maybe this was a bad idea.

Bad idea or no, he refills his own glass and pours her a little more, and he’s starting to feel just a little too open. A little too honest.

“Hope you don’t mind bein’ stuck here. With me,” he admits. He can’t quite meet her eyes, but he feels like she needs to _know_. “I know you like your privacy.”

“I’m glad I’m here,” she says quietly. “I’d rather be here than alone.”

He chances a look at her then, and fuckin’ _hell_ , she’s gorgeous. Her eyes are huge, luminous in the candlelight, and even though he knows he shouldn’t be thinking things like this about a woman he works with and respects the hell out of, he can’t help wondering if her lips are as soft as they look, if she tastes like bourbon and sugar, if she’d kiss him back, were he ever to get up the nerve.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here, too.”

She smiles very gently, her mouth curved in a soft, delicate bow. “Thanks for offering.”

Brad’s just buzzed enough to admit to himself that he’d rather be here with her than anyone else in the world.

She yawns deeply, and he tilts his watch towards the light. “Oof, gettin’ late. I dunno if we wanna bet on the heat coming back on tonight.”

She tugs a blanket around her shoulders. “Why don’t we just stay here? It’ll be warmer by the fire.”

Claire wants to _snuggle?_

Well, he’s not gonna turn down the best idea he’s heard all week.

“Yeah, good call.”

(It’s just for warmth, of course.)

He blows out the candles, checks the fire, fetches a few extra blankets, and settles back on the couch. After a moment’s hesitation, Claire curls up against his side, her smaller frame dwarfed by his, even as they’re both wrapped in multiple blankets. “Is this okay?” she asks softly.

“Just fine, Half-Sour.” He stretches one arm behind his head, if only to stop himself from wrapping it around her, pulling her close, burying his face in her soft hair, saying a whole mess of things he’s got no business saying with this much liquid courage in him. “Get some sleep.”

“Good night.”

She all but whispers it against him, her voice as soft as a breath, and his last conscious thought is _Someday I gotta just man up and tell her the truth_.

* * *

Claire drifts awake the next morning. She’s warm and comfortable and – _oh_.

The memory of exactly how they ended up on the couch comes flooding back, and sure enough, she opens her eyes and finds herself wrapped up securely in Brad’s arms, tucked against his chest.

It just feels so _good_.

It’s so easy to be with him, she thinks. So easy. She’s not going to pretend she hasn’t been attracted to him since the moment she met him. She’s not blind.

And even if this is all she gets, just a few stolen minutes in the warmth of his body, she can’t bring herself to leave.

“Mmmmmff.” He sighs heavily, his arm tightening reflexively around her waist, and Claire catches her breath. “Hey.”

She swallows hard. “Hi.”

“’S’back,” he mumbles without opening his eyes.

“What?”

“Power.” He yawns deeply. “Listen.”

Sure enough, she hears the hum of appliances, and if she concentrates, she can hear the low, gentle sound of the heater.

“Heat’s back on,” she offers, but she makes no move to leave their cozy little nest, and neither does he.

“Mmm. Wonder what time the storm broke.”

Claire’s so warm, so comfortable, she could drift right back off to sleep. Brad’s heartbeat is gentle and steady against her cheek, and if she shuts her eyes, she could imagine –

“Well, better get movin’.” Brad sighs, and she reluctantly moves out of the circle of his arms so let him sit up. “Kinda early, though. You can go back to sleep if you want.”

Claire looks blearily at her phone and groans. “ _Why_ would you wake up at six? You know you don’t have to.”

“I’m a morning person,” he shrugs. “But hey, you can just –”

He edges off the couch, sets up a pillow for her, and tucks the blankets around her carefully.

“There ya go. Catch another snooze, okay? I’m gonna go outside and look around.”

“Okay.” Her eyelids are heavy, so she burrows down into the pillow. “Just a few more minutes.”

“There ya go.” She can hear the fondness in his voice. “I’ll have coffee ready when you wake up.”

* * *

It’s Claire’s turn to film: she’s making pantry pasta today.

“Better be good,” Brad mutters as she ties on her apron. “That’s dinner, ya know.”

She fixes him with an arch look. “You just wait. It’ll be great.”

Brad perches across the counter as she sets out her ingredients. “ _You know, Claire, you don’t actually have to pre-measure your ingredients and put them in little bowls,”_ Dan tells her from his side of the screen. “ _You can just add them from the container.”_

“That’s weird,” she argues while measuring three-fourths of a cup of white wine and pouring it into a plastic tub. “I don’t like it. I’m doing it this way.”

Dan, who clearly knows a losing battle when he sees one, just sighs. “ _Okay. Ready when you are.”_

It’s a pretty simple recipe, so she walks through it with relative ease.

“I generally don’t slice garlic at home because I just find it to be kind of a pain,” she explains to the camera as she smashes a few cloves. “And it’s supposed to be good for you. Just ask Brad.”

He grabs the camera, turning it around to face him. “Brad here, folks. Just wanna confirm that. Now, back to Claire.”

He can hear Dan chuckling as he sets the camera back up, grinning at Claire, who’s watching him with amused fondness as she reaches for the olive oil. “Well, there you go. Right from the horse’s mouth.”

* * *

After they finish washing dinner dishes and setting them out to dry, Brad takes a peek outside. It’s a pure, clear night, not a cloud in the sky, and the moon is already huge.

“Hey, Claire, you wanna go look at the stars later?”

She looks faintly distrustful. “But it’s so cold.”

“Cold night means the stars are even brighter! C’mon, Claire. Just once. It’s gonna be amazing.”

She still looks skeptical, but he’s beginning to understand that _skeptical_ is Claire’s way of showing affection, so when she pulls on an extra sweatshirt and her coat and follows him outside an hour later, Brad’s too excited not to be grinning.

They follow a short trail up to a clearing nearby, and she settles on the soft grass beside him. The moonlight makes everything silvery, and without the light pollution of a city nearby, the sky is a wonder.

“ _Wow,”_ she breathes. Beside her, Brad nods, suddenly wordless.

Without clouds, the moon throws a cool gleam over the ground, and the sky’s so full of stars it looks positively dusty. The sweep of the Milky Way is visible, and she doesn’t think she’s ever seen a night sky as perfect as this one.

The wind cuts right through her coat and she shivers a little, and before she can react, Brad scoots closer, wrapping one arm around her securely. “Here ya go.”

“Thanks.” She burrows warmly against his side. Brad’s perfect for this. He’s big and warm and solid and she feels like she could just stay here forever.

A shooting star races across the sky, silent and shimmering, and Claire gasps, her eyes wide. Brad nudges her gently. “Make a wish, huh?”

She nods, sighing softly, her eyes still on the sky as she leans against him.

“Gotta spend some _time_ with the stars, Claire,” he tells her, and she knows he’s totally aware that he’s talking total bullshit, but she just can’t stop smiling. “Drink ‘em in. The stars are _cosmic_.”

“The stars – are – _cosmic?”_ She can’t stop herself from giggling. “Yeah, Brad, I think that’s what stars _are_.”

“Exactly, Claire!”

Brad seems delighted, and she’s got the giggles and they won’t go away because Brad figured out that stars are _cosmic_ and there’s just something about him that makes everything better, all the time, no matter where they are.

* * *

As chilly as it is, she seems perfectly content to stay there, curled up against his shoulder, looking up at the night sky.

But Brad knows something’s different tonight.

Something’s new.

He chances a look beside him. Claire’s watching the sky, her face soft, and her eyes are just so dark and deep and he’s never seen her so peaceful and she honestly might be the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

And then she turns to look at him, her eyes wide, her lips parted, like she knows what he’s thinking, and he just can’t resist anymore.

“Claire?”

Her gaze drops briefly to his mouth, his blood gets warm, and maybe she murmurs his name, maybe she doesn’t, it doesn’t matter, because she just leans forward an inch and then he does and then her soft, hot mouth is on his and nothing else matters.

He pulls away for a moment, trying to catch his breath, and the look on her face _undoes_ him. She’s biting her lip, her chest heaving, and she looks so desperately hungry that he can’t stop himself. He buries his hands in her hair, kissing her again like he’ll die if he stops.

She makes a soft, helpless noise as he deepens the kiss, a whimper back in her throat, and he forgets all about the stars, because _this_ is what’s cosmic.

* * *

Claire can’t breathe.

They don’t talk on the way back to the cabin, nothing but the soft sounds of nighttime and the crunch of dirt under their feet. She doesn’t know what to say.

Her heart is thrumming against her ribs, ratcheting up with every step, and by the time he shuts the backdoor of the cabin behind them, she can’t stop herself anymore.

Her coat hits the floor somewhere nearby and she stretches up on her toes, reaches her arms around his shoulders, and pulls him down to kiss her again.

He wraps one strong arm around her waist, and before she can do more than gasp, he’s turned her around and she’s off her feet, pinned between the door and the hard line of his body.

He’s _so_ strong, his arms are so steady around her, and kissing him is overwhelming. She doesn’t know where to focus. He’s everywhere, his tongue in her mouth, his hands on her skin, and she can’t help wrapping her thighs tighter around his waist, gasping at the sudden, tight pressure between her legs.

He finally pulls his mouth away from hers and she gasps for breath, but then he’s trailing his lips down her throat, nipping at her soft skin. Oh God, that’s worse. She whimpers, clutching desperately at his shoulders. It’s so much. It’s _too_ much. She’s hot, burning, like she’s about to crawl out of her skin, and if she doesn’t get out of these clothes right now she’s going to burst.

“ _Brad_ ,” she moans, even as she tilts her head back to give him better access. “Oh, God, Brad –”

He grips her ass with those big hands, pulls her close, and walks her across the cabin, kicking open the door to his bedroom.

* * *

Too many layers.

Why is she wearing so many _layers?_

Her back has barely hit the mattress when he’s got her sweatshirt off over her head, then her t-shirt, and he’s fumbling with the clasp of her bra and tugging her jeans down her legs.

“ _Fuck_ , Claire, so gorgeous –”

His eyes rake greedily over her naked body, and she tugs at his t-shirt, trying to get it over his head. “Take it off, Brad, please –”

He gets tangled in it but yanks it off and throws it aside, kicks off his pants, and her mouth goes dry.

He’s _big_.

He’s so big, so thick, and he’s already hot and hard and she’s never been this aroused. She’s already wet, she’s so wet and hot and she’s been fantasizing guiltily about this for _so_ long. His big hands grip her ankles, pulling her closer, and then he’s dragging his fingertips up her legs, dipping lightly in the wetness he finds there.

He presses her thighs apart and pauses for just a moment, his eyes on hers. “Are you –”

“ _Please_ –”

He pushes inside her slowly and she gasps, trembling as she flexes around him. It’s too fast, it is, and she’s still so tight but it feels so _good_.

He settles carefully against her, gripping her thighs. Claire sucks in a long breath, shutting her eyes, trying to adjust to the feel of him inside her, her delicate inner muscles clenching reflexively.

“Okay?” he chokes out, and she nods, her hair rustling against the pillow.

Finally he lets go and buries himself deep inside her, one sharp, rough thrust, and Claire digs her heels against him and buries her fingernails in his brawny shoulders and just lets go.

He picks up his pace and the tension builds at the base of her spine, coiling tighter and tighter until she finally lets out a soft cry and comes apart, tightening around him, pushing him over the edge too.

He drops against her, panting, and she sighs, running her hands over the sweaty muscles of his shoulders, her breasts crushed under the weight of his chest as he tries to steady his breathing.

 _Wow_.

* * *

Brad wakes up with the sun, as usual.

Except today, he wakes up next to Claire.

She’s fast asleep; doesn’t wake when he sits up, just snuffles softly and buries her face in the pillow.

He spends a long moment watching her sleeping form, memorizing the strands of soft hair scattered across her cheek. With the pale sunlight streaming through the windows, she looks ethereal; the light gilds her skin, makes her hair shine, and it’s a long time before he can tear his eyes away.

* * *

When Claire wakes up, she’s glowing, she’s sore, her whole body feels alive and she can’t believe they _did_ that.

She can smell coffee already, which just makes everything even better.

Brad’s nowhere to be seen, at least not from the bed, so she wraps her arms around herself, grabs one of his towels, tiptoes into the bathroom, and turns on the shower.

She’s rinsing the last suds out of her hair when the shower door opens, and suddenly she feels him behind her, tall and strong, sliding his big hands into her hair and massaging her scalp. She lets out an appreciative moan, her head falling back. “Oh, _Brad –”_

“I like when you say my name that way,” he murmurs, nuzzling her throat. Claire swallows hard, leaning back against the heat of his body. She can already feel him hard against her ass, and his hands are drifting lower.

“You do, huh?”

“Oh, yeah,” he whispers, biting her ear. Her eyes flutter closed as he cups her breasts in his hands, flicking his thumbs over her nipples. “How’s your shower?”

“Just got a lot – _oh –_ ”

She whimpers as he slides a hand between her legs, just barely dipping a finger inside her. He bites the shell of her ear, soothing the sting with his tongue.

“Were you saying something?”

“ _Asshole_ ,” she murmurs, trying to grind down against his hand.

“You’re so _bossy_ , Claire,” he chuckles, circling his fingers slowly around her clit, just barely outside of where she really, really wants it. “I like it.”

She shuts off the water with an impatient twist of her hand and grabs his arm, dragging him out of the bathroom into her bedroom. He’s teasing, she’s keyed up, and they need to just _do_ this.

Brad pushes her down on the bed, settles between her legs, and Claire sighs. He’s trailing a line of soft, wet, open-mouthed kisses down her stomach, teasing her clit with the lightest brushes of his thumb, when he stops dead.

Claire flinches at the sudden, rude pause, but then she hears it – his alarm. “Brad?” She can’t quite get her breath under her.

“Shit. Ah, fuck.” He sighs, shutting his eyes. “I’m supposed to be filming in like ten minutes.”

“ _What?”_

“Sorry.” He groans sheepishly, dropping his head against her shoulder. “Totally your fault, though.”

Her jaw drops. “ _Excuse_ me?”

“Come on, you ever see yourself in the shower, babe?” He kisses the underside of her jaw. “Fuckin’ irresistible.”

She grumbles a little. Great. _Great_. “What, you’re just gonna leave me here?”

He looks up at the clock on her nightstand, and a wolfish grin crosses his face. “Oh, don’t you worry, Claire.” He tugs her nipple with his teeth, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses down her stomach, pushing her thighs apart. “Just gotta work fast.”

* * *

He ducks back into his bedroom to throw on clothes and hurriedly towel off his hair, and Claire lies back on her bed, sweaty and panting.

 _Fuck_.

She hears him greeting Hunzi and Kevin cheerfully out in the kitchen, and she would go out and watch and hang around in case he needs help, but, well.

She’s just going to need a _moment_.

* * *

Eventually, she throws on a soft shirt and sweatpants and steals out into the living room to watch the action.

As Brad chatters and laughs and plays to the camera, and she can’t stop staring at his hands. They’re big. Strong. And his fingers are so long, a little rough, a little calloused.

(She’s always said Brad is _very talented with his hands._ )

He talks to the camera about the fermented garlic-ginger paste he’s starting out today, and she sits back behind the cameras, hiding a smile. She can still feel the flush in her skin. Her legs ache, her hip flexors are sore, the rasp of beard burn stings her throat and her breasts and her inner thighs, and she feels lazily, decadently, sinfully good.

* * *

The rest of the day passes in relative calm; she’s got a zoom meeting with her editors, Brad does a long call with Duckor to talk upcoming projects, and they really only catch each other in passing.

After dinner and a generous glass of wine, Brad’s trying to decide how to bring it up, but Claire figures it out first.

Well, in a way.

She pushes him down on the couch, climbing straight into his lap. Her eyes are so dark, wild, and she’s tugging his shirt off while she’s grinding her hips against his, and oh _fuck_ his jeans are getting tighter and tighter.

By the time she unzips his jeans and gets one hand inside, wrapping firmly around his length, all the blood has left his brain. She slides to the floor, kneeling between his legs and tugging his cock out of his jeans, and then her mouth is on him, warm and wet, and her small, clever hand and her tongue and oh _fuck_ –

He’s babbling, he knows, his brain is shot to hell at the sight of Claire kneeling between his legs, and all he can do is groan and clench his fists on the throw pillows as she works over him with that perfect, pouty mouth, one long, slow suck at a time.

* * *

She’s never felt like this before.

She feels feverish, like now that she’s given in, she just can’t stop.

She answers emails, he putters around the kitchen, they take turns filming, they act perfectly normal on camera.

And then when the camera’s off, it’s a frantic flurry of clothes hitting the floor as they stumble towards the nearest flat surface.

(It’s the best sex she’s ever had.)

* * *

Dan gives her a thumbs up and calls a final _cut_ on her flatbread video. Done for today. She needs to take a few beauty shots and send them in for stills, but apart from that, video’s clear. She waves and shuts down her computer.

Brad shuts off the camera, she takes off her microphone and sets it carefully on the counter, and they’re on each other. He yanks her apron over her head, and she’s fumbling for his belt buckle as he tries to get her shirt off.

He slides his hands under her ass and lifts her up onto the counter, and she can’t stop kissing him, even as she tries to unbutton his shirt.

“Not _here_ ,” she whines. They have to cook here. She can’t film professional videos if she’s thinking about him fucking her right here on their workspace.

Without warning, Brad sweeps her up in his arms. She yelps, clutching desperately at his shoulders, trying to catch her breath as he crosses the living room in a few steps and drops her onto the couch.

* * *

It takes some convincing for Claire to accept that she doesn’t need a bathing suit to enjoy the hot tub.

To be honest, that’s not her only hesitation. “Brad, we can’t have sex in the hot tub. It’s not healthy.”

He shrugs. “Doesn’t mean we can’t still have fun.”

She’s a little skeptical; she’d never have thought about getting naked outside, but Brad’s already unzipping her jeans and biting gently at her throat and _oh_ okay maybe they can just…give it a try.

* * *

Between the hot water jets and Brad’s wandering, greedy fingers, Claire’s keyed up and flushed and unbearably hot.

She settles on his lap, shivering as he grips her ass with impatient hands. He’s already hot and hard against her, and she needs _relief._ “Inside,” she groans into his ear, rolling her hips against him. “ _Now.”_

They make it inside, but not much further.

Brad gets her up against the kitchen island and she shivers, because she can’t believe they’re doing this, it’s crazy, but then he’s nudging her thighs apart and pushing inside her from behind and all she can do is moan.

He pins her hands to the counter, his body heavy over hers as he whispers filth into her ear and thrusts into her again and again, and when she finally comes apart around him, she sees stars.

* * *

They sleep and cook and eat and film and have sex, and the days start to pass in a blur.

Brad’s almost afraid to fall asleep. He keeps thinking this isn’t real, it can’t be, and he’s going to wake up in an empty bed to an empty cabin without Claire, without her soft dark eyes and beaming smile and the sweet way she laughs when she’s teasing him.

Everything outside might be falling apart, the future’s uncertain, but the way her eyes go wide and her skin flushes pink and her hands grip his shoulders when he’s inside of her – _that’s_ real.

* * *

In the end, after all her firm insistence that they keep it between the two of them, it’s actually Claire’s fault.

She wakes up alone in his bed. Brad’s almost always up before her; he likes to get up and get started on breakfast, and she can already smell coffee.

So Claire grabs his flannel shirt off the floor, shrugs it over her shoulders, fastens the middle two buttons, and heads out to the kitchen in search of precious caffeine.

Brad’s nowhere to be found, but the lights are on and there’s coffee in the coffeemaker, so Claire grabs a clean mug out of the cabinet and reaches for the coffeepot.

“ _Claire?”_

She freezes.

Turns around.

Brad’s laptop is set at the edge of the counter, half-hidden behind a bag of flour, and she’s suddenly face-to-face with a startled-looking Kevin Dynia.

And then she remembers what she’s wearing.

She grabs the edges of the shirt, but it’s obviously too little, too late. And she knows it’s completely, totally obvious that she’s not wearing anything underneath it.

Kevin is blinking strenuously, like he’s not sure how to process what he’s seeing. Claire fishes around for something to say, but she comes up with nothing.

Naturally, that’s when the back door opens, and Brad walks in. But he can see she’s startled, and there’s obviously something wrong.

“Claire – you – uh –” he looks from her, to the computer screen, then back at her, and she sees his face fall. “I – sorry, Claire –”

She doesn’t wait to hear an explanation. It’s her fault, anyway.

She retreats into her room, pulls on her own clothes, grabs her coat, and pushes out the front door without looking back at Brad.

* * *

Claire ends up atop the boulder, looking out over the view she’s come to love, but she’s not seeing any of it.

Who does she call?

Her mother? Her sister? Molly? Carla?

She stares at her phone. She doesn’t know. She doesn’t know who she’s supposed to call in this specific situation. She doesn’t have a blueprint to follow. She hasn’t brainstormed this.

She didn’t make a plan before she started having sex with Brad in a little cabin in the middle of Wyoming.

Nihilism always seems to be creeping at the corners of things now, and out here, with nothing but the wind and the trees and the grey sky, there’s nothing to hold it at bay as every ugly thought she’s been ignoring suddenly looms overhead.

_What if it doesn’t mean anything?_

_Why didn’t we stop and think about it?_

_I shouldn’t have come here_.

How long before all the nagging gossips she tries to avoid, all those people she’s never met, people who don’t know her, start yelling _I knew it_ and _Of course they did_ and _They were probably already sleeping together, come on_ , like her life is just under a microscope for everyone to judge?

And then what happens if it all falls apart?

It’s not like either one of them has options right now. Is this just them making the best of a bad situation?

Claire shoves her phone back into her pocket, pulls her knees up to her chest, and stares off into the distance, wondering what she’s going to do.

* * *

She doesn’t know how long it’s been, but she’s still sitting there, watching nothing in particular, when she hears footsteps on the path behind her.

She hears him pause for a moment, and finally, he asks, “Can I join you?”

“Yeah.”

He clambers up onto the boulder beside her, close enough to be together, but giving her enough space that they don’t actually have to touch.

(Two days ago, when they stole up here to “enjoy the view,” they couldn’t _stop_ touching each other.)

“You okay?”

Claire’s been worrying her bottom lip between her teeth, and she finally lets out a heavy sigh and asks the question she’s been dreading.

“Are we making a mistake?”

Any other time, Brad might act like he doesn’t understand, make a joke of it, but his eyes are clear and keen and serious.

“No.”

Claire picks at an imaginary thread on her jeans because it’s easier than meeting his eyes. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah.”

She huffs. “You make it sound so easy.”

“Didn’t say it was,” he points out, scuffing one boot on the rock beneath them. “But you and me? We’re not a mistake. Never were. Never will be.”

“But – ” Oh, she _wants_ him to be right. But there are too many doubts in her mind, and she can’t just hear what she wants to hear and be satisfied. “It’s not – it’s not that it’s not amazing, Brad, it’s not that, I just – what happens when all this is over? We go back to reality, everything changes, and it’s not _like_ this.”

She shakes her head, and Brad clears his throat. “What are you scared of?”

“What if it doesn’t _work?”_

She finally turns to look at him, and the look on his face just utterly undoes her. She’s never seen him so gentle. So patient.

“You think we’re gonna go home and suddenly have second thoughts?”

She nods slowly, looking at some spot on the ground that’s easier to deal with right now. Her throat aches. Everything is blurry.

The touch of his hand on her cheek is a shock, even more so when he turns her face back to his.

“I got no second thoughts when it comes to you, Claire.” He tips her chin up gently, searching her eyes. “Not lookin’ for a way out. You’re it for me.”

“ _Brad –”_

“This isn’t new for me, okay? I don’t even remember not loving you. And that ain’t gonna change.”

His face blurs as her eyes well up with tears, and she can’t stop it, so she doesn’t try. She just turns her face into his chest and lets herself fall against him, and he wraps his arms around her as she cries.

The tears slowly dry up, and Claire just lets herself breathe, wrapped up in the warmth of his arms. Everything’s a mess right now, on a level they’ve never seen, and if nothing else, the simple realization that _this is okay_ , that the two of them can hang onto this fleeting, gossamer thing she’s always been so afraid of, it just too much to take in.

She sniffles a little, and he rubs her back. “You okay?”

Claire takes in a long breath. “It’s kind of cold out here.”

“C’mon, let’s go back inside.” He presses a soft kiss to the crown of her head. “Not gonna see you turn into a Claire-sicle.”

As they walk along the path, Claire takes a chance. Reaches for his hand.

He beams at her, twining his fingers warmly through hers, and doesn’t let go until they get back to the cabin.

* * *

Claire watches from the couch as Brad films the end of his segment on garlic-ginger paste. It looks pretty good, and even from over here, it smells good.

He’s chaotic, though. Even for Brad, this is chaotic. He rambles, his mind wanders, and she can tell Hunzi’s doing his best, but this is a new level of Brad.

She still hasn’t had coffee, though.

So she waits to hear Hunzi yell _Cut, Brad, hang on_ , and heads for the kitchen to grab a mug. “Sorry, guys. Just need coffee.”

“Everyone hold up, hold up!” Brad waves his arms, taking a step back. “Un-caffeinated Claire coming through. She’s dangerous before her coffee.”

She can hear laughing from the screen as she carefully pours herself a cup and stirs in some milk. “How’s the video going?”

“ _It’s a little messy,”_ Hunzi admits.

“ _Hey, Claire_ ,” Kevin says, his voice as casual as ever. Totally normal. “ _How’s it going?”_

“Fine out here.”

“ _Cool.”_

Brad goes back to work, Claire takes her coffee on the couch, and a minute later, her phone buzzes. Text from Kevin Dynia. _you okay? I’m really sorry._

She tucks her hair behind her ear, stealing one more look at Brad, who’s still rambling and gesturing to the sky in general, knife in hand.

_it’s okay. not your fault._

Kevin must still be paying attention to Brad filming; it’s another few minutes before he texts her again. _I’m not going to say anything, k? you and Brad do what you want. you’re both awesome._

Claire lets out a breath, smiling as she sends one last response.

_when we get back, you can have all the poptarts you want._

* * *

He builds a fire in the fireplace and they make dinner together, bumping into each other’s arms, teasing each other as they reach across the counter for olive oil and wine and black pepper. It feels _normal_. It’s just cooking together, like they’ve done a hundred thousand times.

Except _now_ , when he teases her and holds the salt out of her reach, she can tug him down and press a soft kiss to his mouth before she grabs the salt away.

* * *

When she takes his hand and pulls him into her bedroom that night, it’s _slow_.

He kisses her like it’s their first time. Like there’s no hurry, nothing else in the world, just the softness of his mouth and the scratch of his beard and the warmth of his hands as he buries them in her hair.

It’s sweetly, achingly slow. He tugs her shirt over her head, dragging his mouth over every inch of skin he uncovers. She reaches for the clasp of her bra with impatient fingers, but he stops her. “Let me,” he whispers, tracing reverent fingertips over the line of her throat, over the notch of her collarbone, between her breasts. “It’s okay, Claire. We got all night.”

He lays her back on the comforter, pulls off her sweatpants and tosses them over his shoulder. Claire catches her breath, watching his eyes rove over her with undisguised hunger. He traces his mouth across her skin like he’s determined to kiss her everywhere, teasing her until she’s whimpering and arching her hips against him, desperate for friction. “Brad – _Brad_ –”

“Yeah?” He bites the inside of her thigh and she cries out. “You want something?”

He hooks his fingers under her panties, dragging them slowly down her legs, and Claire’s ready to combust. “Brad, _please_ –”

“Well, since you asked so nicely –”

The first touch of his mouth sends her frayed nerves into overdrive.

She can’t breathe, can’t speak, all she can do is clutch at the pillow with trembling hands and shut her eyes and plead with him incoherently, squirming under him. He’s relentless, merciless, pinning her down with one strong arm as her back arches.

He crooks his fingers deep inside her, sucks on her clit, and before she can do more than cry out, her orgasm floods through her, every muscle going tight.

It takes her a long moment to come back to herself. She swallows hard, wiping shaky hands over her face. “Oh.”

“So beautiful,” he whispers, kissing his way up her body. “So fuckin’ beautiful, Claire.”

He kisses her mouth slow and thorough, letting her taste herself, and she whimpers, tugging at his bottom lip with her teeth, feeling his answering grin.

It’s nothing like their first time.

That first night was desperate, feverish, the inevitable result of sexual tension taken so far past the boiling point they just couldn’t help themselves.

But now?

It’s sweet, it’s hot and desperate but it’s so much more relaxed, like now that he’s admitted he _loves_ her he’s just going to take as much time as he wants to prove it, over and over again.

Claire finally pushes up on shaky arms, pushing him onto his back – he’s so much bigger than her, she knows he’s letting her do it – and pins him back to the bed, leaning down to kiss him deep and dirty. His tongue swipes hers aggressively, and she nips at his bottom lip.

She settles on his legs, her thighs trembling. His cock is rigid, and when she wraps one fist gently around him, he grunts, his hips canting up into her touch. His eyes are screwed shut, his jaw tight. She can see him desperately trying to hang onto control.

She pushes up on her knees, and he steadies her, one big hand at her waist, watching with hooded, dark eyes as she sinks down on him.

She has to ease down, taking him in slowly, letting her inner muscles stretch and flex around him. He’s so _big_ , so thick, filling her hot and tight and perfect. She can’t hold back the breathless moan that escapes her, her eyes fluttering shut.

She takes a deep breath, licks her lips, and rolls her hips against him. His eyes are locked on hers, and she can feel him twitch inside her, feel the hitch of his muscles underneath her, as he groans.

He reaches blindly for her, kneading her breasts, rolling her nipples. She grabs one of his hands and guides it to her lips, running her tongue slowly over his fingers, sucking on them teasingly until he swears, thrusting up into her, swearing and gripping her thigh.

She lets his hand go and lets her head fall back, riding him slow and steady, and he drags his fingers down her chest.

Not that she needs it – she’s so wet, so desperate, her whole body aching – but then he reaches between her legs and draws tight, tiny circles over her clit, featherlight and teasing, and it’s torture.

She clenches around him and he groans. “Fuck, _fuck_ , Claire –”

He pushes himself up on one hand, burying his free hand in her hair, and then he’s kissing her deeply, his tongue stroking against hers.

She digs her fingernails into his shoulders. She’s close, she can feel it, but it’s just too much, it’s all too much, and she’s so overwhelmed and he’s so hot and hard and _big_ and she can’t hold on much longer.

“C’mon, Claire,” he whispers into her ear, dragging his thumb over her clit. “C’mon, I got you, I got you -”

She comes so hard she can’t breathe, her eyes shut, her face buried in his shoulder, and he’s just behind her, his hands tightening on her thighs as he groans deeply and spills inside her.

* * *

When Claire opens her eyes in the morning, she finds Brad already awake. He’s watching her with soft, tender eyes, his head propped up on his arm, and he’s stroking her hair.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” She swallows. “How long have you been awake?”

“I dunno.” He offers a minute shrug. “A while.”

He looks perfectly at ease, totally relaxed as the sunlight streams over them.

 _This_ is what was missing, she realizes. All this time, every time they couldn’t keep their hands off each other – she hadn’t realized how much she just wanted to curl up and relax and just enjoy the warmth of his presence. Cuddling might be her new favorite Brad-related activity.

(Well. Her _second_ favorite.)

“So what do you want to do?”

She rests her chin on her hands, looking up at him. “About what?”

“About us.” He rubs her back gently. “Telling people. Or not.”

She sighs. “Well, Kevin knows.”

“Ah, Kevin doesn’t count.” He chuckles. “Seriously, though. I know you like your privacy, and I’m on board with that. What are you thinking, long-term?”

Long-term?

(She knows he loves her.)

Claire reaches one hand for his face, scratching gently at his scruffy beard. “I think – we should probably tell our friends we’re seeing each other.”

His grin is bright as the sun. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.” She presses a soft kiss to his chest. “Because I don’t think we should stop.”

* * *

That afternoon, rather than sitting at their separate laptops, Brad and Claire curl up together on the couch, shoulders brushing as they sip their respective coffee and watch from the same rectangle in the zoom chat.

It’s not a formal call; this is just a handful of test kitchen chefs, so Molly talks about California, Priya’s dad leans over her shoulder to wave hello to everyone, Sohla’s dogs trot over to join her, and Chris leaves a few times to fetch Pokemon cards from unexpected places, which seems to be a fairly normal thing for him.

Eventually there’s a lull in the conversation, and Claire can’t really be surprised that it’s Molly who brings it up.

“ _Hey, Brad? Claire?”_ Molly sounds suspicious. “ _You guys are pretty quiet. Anything you wanna share with the class?”_

Claire looks up at Brad. “You wanna?”

He shrugs. “Your call.”

Claire takes a deep breath, telling herself _It’s going to happen eventually, isn’t it?_ “We’re, um, we’re, together. In the room, now, and also, you know –”

(Okay, so it’s not her most eloquent speech.)

She’s out of words, so she waves a hand kind of vaguely between them, hoping it gets the point across.

There’s a moment of shocked silence, and then the laptop speakers crackle as everyone on the screen starts talking all at once, chattering excitedly, beaming, and it’s utter chaos, and Molly’s trying to convince everyone that she _knew it, she totally knew it_.

Claire just buries her face in Brad’s shoulder, smiling, and he kisses the top of her head and strokes her hair and as uncertain and piecemeal as everything is anymore, she still feels profoundly, deeply _happy_.

* * *

A week later, Kevin Dynia receives a package at home. Return address: Wyoming.

He opens it to find a box of Claire’s homemade pop-tarts, and a little handwritten note in her careful, distinctive handwriting: _don’t tell Hunzi, but you’re our favorite._ – _C &B_


End file.
